


shuttereyes

by Rei_Rei (anti60ne)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti60ne/pseuds/Rei_Rei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>something is exchanged through the lens, behind the shutter, and past the windows of jongin's stoic eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shuttereyes

**genre:** some form of au idk  
 **pairing:** jongin/luhan  
 **rating:** pg  
 **word count:** 900  
 **summary:** something is exchanged through the lens, behind the shutter, and past the windows of jongin's stoic eyes.

  
he never wanted to be a model. he never wanted any part of fame, glamor, the endless snaps of camera shutter.

he just wanted time to fast forward to the moment when he is no longer in this world.

"what's your name?"

he side-glances the stranger smiling at him with eyes twinkling inquisitively, a martini in his hand. he can't really see his face. it's too dark, and he doesn't care enough. but he answers anyway.

"jongin."

the stranger studies him, peering at him through half-lidded eyes, the flashing nightclub lights dancing across his cheeks. he reaches into his jacket and pulls something out.

"have you ever considered modeling?"

jongin looks at the business card in the stranger's outstretched hand. he remains still.

"no."

"well, you should," the stranger slides his business card under jongin's half-emptied glass. "i think you belong in front of the camera."

the word "belong" is a funny word. it's a word that has never crossed jongin's mind, and yet it has always lingered in the deeper end of his soul.

jongin removes the card from underneath his glass, in dire need of a refill of tequila. he studies it. luhan, it scribbles in feathery cursive and glimmery ink. the stranger is a photographer.

he calls the number on the card the next morning.

"i thought you said you weren't interested," the photographer skips the formality of how-are-you's and nice-to-hear-from-you's, a lighthearted lilt in his half-awake voice.

"i'm not," jongin replies flatly. he stares out the window of his one-bedroom. the window is murky with lonely apathy. "i just want to belong."

luhan pauses a beat before asking jongin to come to the studio the next day.

\---

it is jongin's first time in a photography studio, being surrounded by girls and boys with flawless faces and perfect physiques, having strangers putting paints and powders and chemical substances on his skin and in his hair. but he's far from looking like a deer caught in headlights. he doesn't care enough to be addled, anxious, or awestruck. the nonstop chattering and clinking in the surroundings merely wash over his senses like innocuous breezes, leaving no marks or impressions of substance.

when he's positioned on the set with artificial light cast over him, his eyes bore into the aperture of luhan's poised camera, mindlessly searching for an answer to his existence.

jongin, for a split second, wonders if this is the home to his dead soul.

"look like you couldn't care less if the armageddon is within the next hour," luhan instructs as he raises the camera, zooming in on the expressionless face.

jongin imagines the scenario inside his head. his eyes turn a tinge darker, filling with abandoned contempt toward humanity, something that is more of a routine than a feat.

"excellent."

the shutter launches into a series of snaps, luhan shifting from one angle to another, while jongin stays motionless, his gaze fixated on a distant point beyond luhan's expectations.

luhan forgets to shower the boy with rehearsed and monotonous praises. he even almost forgets to press the shutter upon a discovery.

"i knew you belonged in front of the camera," he breathes as he trains his eyes through the lens and on jongin's untrained facade.

\---

a number of weeks later, luhan gives him a copy of GQ, the cover of which is graced with a suited jongin, hair slicked back, kohled eyes smoldering in a mysterious allure. jongin frowns, as if the person printed in vibrant graphics is someone else.

"you don't look very happy for someone who managed to get on the cover of GQ within just a few months of debut," luhan teases, curiosity prodding beneath his grin.

"i don't understand," jongin mutters as he pushes the magazine aside, eyes drifting toward the flickering street light outside. it's dusk; he should be making ramen for dinner instead of being told to examine his polished face, the last thing he wants to do. "why do people like my photos so much? i'm ugly."

luhan winces at the last word. he watches jongin quietly, and frowns. luhan steers jongin to face him and cups the boy's unpainted face.

"first of all, that is complete bullshit. you are gorgeous. no, you are breathtaking," luhan speaks softly but firmly, making sure his words are inscribed on jongin's mind past the windows of his listless eyes. "and i'm not saying that just because i scouted you. and second," luhan inches forward until his nose is a breath away from jongin's. the ring in his iris skitters like a startled small animal; afraid, yet too baffled to flee.

"don't ever, ever call yourself ugly. i hereby forbid that word to ever come out of your mouth."

luhan finishes with a peck too fleeting for jongin to realize it ever happened, much less the meaning behind it. then he's gone, closing the door with a light click and a waned scent of something more than a mentor's concern but less than a lover's affection.

alone, jongin unknowingly brushes the pad of his index finger across his lips. he looks out the window and suddenly realizes that it is no longer fogged with a drab disinterest, and the oscillating velvets of sunset hues seem much brighter than he's used to.

his eyes take on a lighter shade of something vivid, something real, something that makes him feel like he belongs.  



End file.
